a tale of another broken home
by chocolate cake with sprinkles
Summary: songfic for Jesus Of Suburbia by Green Day. a bit of a thank you for your patience on "this 21st century breakdown" will l8r become its own albumfic based on American Idiot. enjoy ppls


**A Tale of Another Broken Home:**

It all started with a young man, sixteen or so, who called himself Jesus. He whose Daddy was enraged enough to hold a knife to Mommy's throat and he whose Mommy loved him as an unborn child enough to choose not to get the abortion. The one who hails from Jingletown (aka the suburbs of Rodeo), California. True, a story about an emotionally troubled teen could go on without _him_ being the protagonist, but it just wouldn't have been as fun, y'know?

Anyway, back to Jesus. He was beautiful. _The _hottest guy _ever_ to model a look after Sid Vicious. You know the type; über-pale, dresses up all punky, spikes of black-dyed hair sticking out of his head like pins sticking out of a pincushion, eyeliner, tats, piercings, and, of course, a pair of black Chucks.

He had the attitude to fit, too. He was the type that left a place unrecognizable due to the spray-paint and sharpies he stole for the sole purpose of splattering graffiti over the walls. The type who used random girls to make his current favorite jealous. The type you could practically feel the arrogance and lust emanating from as strongly as the scents of cigarettes and marijuana.

Yeah, he had his less attractive attributes. But who could blame him? I'll bet _you_ didn't have a terrible life at home, or lived with _the _person you hated the most.

See, Jesus hated a lot of people, (a few on the list were the Taliban, George W. Bush, and his future step-father, Brad) but the one person he absolutely _despised_ was his own mother, Ollie Whitman.

As a matter of fact, the day he left the two were glaring at each other from across the coffee table.

"His stuff stays the hell out of my room," he growled through clenched teeth.

"_Your_ room? Kid, you're forgetting who got out there on that corner to pay rent so you could _have_ a room and not just a cardboard box." She paused to take a nice, long drag off her cigarette and blew the smoke into her son's face. She knew it bothered him, but why should it? She _knew_ he smoked plenty of stuff himself. "Besides, that douche of a father left you the car for a reason. Sleep _there_."

Again with the car! See, Jesus' dad, Andy, died of some kind of cancer. Poor kid, he was only ten years old at the time. He remembered his pop's last words well: "The car goes to you. Not your mother or any of the guys she'll come home with, just you." Andy Whitman slipped the key into his son's hand, drew a last breath, and passed away. Ollie started to cry (as if she was sad her husband died), but when she learned the kid had the car key, she tried to take it from him. When she began to pry his hand open, he smacked her across the face with his free one. It was so hard that when she opened her mouth to speak, a few tablespoons of blood came out with the words, "Go ahead, take the damn car. Gasoline is too expensive these days anyway. But short skirts come cheap and street corners are free. Know what I do to pay the bills and know that it's all your fault."

Leaving his memory and coming back to present day, Jesus looked her straight in the eye, the eyes he inherited, and said, "Why are you with him?" Brad was an asshole. Not just to him, but to Ollie, too.

"He makes me happy is all."

"Oh, I thought my dad made you happy."

This comment made her give him a scowl that could make babies cry and the evil eye so bad that anyone even slightly superstitious would be afraid for him. "You_ know _what your father did to me, you _know_!" She took another drag off her cigarette and puffed it in Jesus' face. Feeling a bit more calm and collected she opened her eyes (she always closed her eyes when she inhaled the smoke to get to her happy place or whatever), looked back at him as if she couldn't care any less about him (could she?) and continued. "And Brad does something your father never did for me. Pay the bills."

"Well forgive me, Mother Dear," he said in a sarcasm-saturated voice, "but I just don't see the difference between a whore and skank who depends on her horny fiancé to support her."

"Shut the hell up, Messiah. Nobody gave you the-"

"You _know _I hate being called that."

"What, _Messiah_? That's your name, moron. Did you forget it?"

"Ollie, that name makes me sound like a fucking terrorist." He knew the history behind his name, though. Before he was born, Ollie wanted to kill herself; but after he was born she knew she couldn't, making him her God-given savior whether she wanted one or not.

"You know something, kid? Every day I live with you I find myself regretting not getting rid of you when I had the damn chance."

"Funny, every day I put up with you and your crap _I _find _myself_ wishing I was never born.

As a response, she tapped her cigarette's ash on his shoes, brought the thing closer to her face as if to take another puff, and "accidently" flicked it on her son's bare shoulder.

"_DAMMIT, DAMMIT, DAMMIT_ !" he yelled in agony.

"Oops, sorry," she said in a mock-regretful voice, adopting a theatrical puppy-eyed look.

Pissed off beyond patience, Jesus glared at her as if to burn her soul straight to hell and said, "Brad watches porn 'cause he wants a younger body to play with."

He got up and walked away. Maybe Scarlet could cheer him up, or maybe Mary-Jane, or maybe even Whatsername.

_Better yet_, he thought, _screw it. I hate this place._

If there were three faces all of Rodeo's suburbs knew, they'd probably be the faces of Jesus' three favorites. Scarlet the Harlot (aptly nicknamed "scarlet" from her bright red short bob) was, without a doubt, _the _skankiest girl in Jingle town. Practically a free whore and never seen without all that black lipstick and always dressed up slutty in something that would show the spider tattoo on her chest. And then there was Mary-Dumbass-Jane, if she were any prettier you could call her a bimbo but it's all an act. Nobody expects bimbos to be cocaine smugglers though the light purple-dyed hair, combat boots and fishnet stockings showed she had the potential, the childish white dress made her look a little innocent. And Whatsername! Who could forget her? You could tell she was a rebel with her high heel boots, almost unruly blonde hair, and red lipstick that was her trademark and the jeans and jackets she wore made her look like a leader. Her real name was Dezzy but Jesus couldn't remember it and Whatsername stuck.

Kinda funny, her name was Dezzy as in Desiree meaning "desired" but in reality, she was an outcast among outcasts. The Harlot and the Dumbass would constantly fight over who Jesus lusted for more. But when Whatsername asked why she wasn't included—what had made her a less likely candidate?— Scarlet broke into sudden laughter. When she composed herself she put a hand on the very confused and un-slutty (especially in comparison) girl and said, "Oh, honey, he can't even remember your name."

Whatsername _hated_ Scarlet for that, but it was true. When she became a favorite, she thought it would make her feel special, like a princess in the shiny tiara he gave her. But she wasn't special. She was just another harem girl. The oh-what-was-her-name?-I-can-never-remember one. Oh well, at least she wasn't the total whore or the dumbass. A title like that was degrading on a good day. On a bad day... Well at least that wasn't how people knew her.

In fact that day the Jesus of Suburbia left, they were all in the same corner of the 7-eleven parking lot.

"Where _is _he?" Mary-Dumbass-Jane squealed.

"Usually, Ollie pissed him off and he left to be with one of us, that's how it's always been," Scarlet the Harlot observed. "Where is he?"

"Why's he not here yet?" the Dumbass reiterated.

"Maybe he got sick of your stupid questions," Whatsername retorted.

"At least he remembers _our _names," the Harlot shot back.

"Shut the fuck up, you cheap whore. No, there's a difference between you and a cheap whore; a cheap whore would charge a nickel, you don't charge anything."

"Now I see why Jesus doesn't like you, you don't get along well with others."

"Bitch, you can fuck off and die."

Had they been more aware of their surroundings, they would have seen Jesus with a hood over half of his face as he entered the 7-eleven. See, he majorly vandalized the restroom a few days before. He wrote stuff like "**THE END OF THE WORLD**, **ARE YOU LISTENING?**, **I DON'T CARE!**, **TO DIE IN TRAGEDY**," all over the walls. He even drew an evil-looking self portrait on the mirror and broke the sink. Now, he saw they had repainted the walls, put in a new sink, and scraped the sharpie ink off the mirror but left the razor there. Jesus took out a black sharpie and wrote "_SAINT JIMMY!_" the name of apparently Whatsername's ex and insubordinate rebel extraordinaire who lived on cigarettes and ramen and started every day by rolling a joint with a page torn out of the bible.

_And he's gonna make my life better_,He thought.

He stormed out of the place only to be swarmed by his favorite Harlot and Dumbass. He totally ignored them shouting "I'm leaving!"

Before he could walk any farther, Whatsername stepped in front of him. "So, that's it? You're just gonna run away and pretend we don't exist?"

"This whole town don't exist. What makes you any different?"

She glared at him through her narrowed, thickly lined crystal blue eyes. "You can get shot and go to hell for all I care." And, with this, she walked away.

He had to walk through that door and look Ollie in the eye one last time, all his stuff was in that shitty little house.

As soon as he came in he threw all the needed stuff in his backpack.

"What's goin' on, kid?"

"I'm leaving."

"Why?"

"Because, as much as I would _love _to stay here, in this _beautiful_ house, sitting on an air mattress in our _perfect_ basement, trying to fall asleep while having to listen to you give Brad a blow job, I'm sick of this town and I'm never coming back. So good-bye forever, Ollie, have fun sucking Brad's dick!" He walked away from the house seeking escape, but this time he wasn't coming back.

He got in his car and started to back out of the driveway when Ollie started smacking the hood, yelling, "Hey, HEY!"

"What do you want now?" he yelled back.

All the anger melted completely form her voice and face, "get out here and kiss your mother good-bye."

Any other day he would answer "HELL NO!" but they weren't going to see each other for the rest of their lives, so he might as well.

He got out and she hugged him. He hugged her back and kissed the top of her head.

"Love you, kid," she said.

This angered him. More than the sarcastic comments and insults she threw at him, more than the names she called him.

He violently pushed her away saying "No you don't." He drove away on another lost highway and left this town behind.

As he did he her someone shouting "Go ahead and leave. Three years and you'll be nothing but a tale of another broken home!"

It sounded like Whatsername's voice.


End file.
